


Turn and Face the Changes

by fawatson



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Remix Redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Armsmen's daughter break with tradition, each in her own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn and Face the Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beatrice_Otter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Times, They Are A-Changin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/330217) by [Beatrice_Otter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter). 



> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

Helena Vogti Braud watched with bewildered pride as her daughter Cordelia graduated top of her class from the Imperial Women’s Academy. Like many of the Armsman’s wives, she had taken to heart Countess Vorkosigan's advice about the coming shortage of women as a young wife. She and her husband had one son to carry on the name and several daughters, a reverse of the general trend in society. She had expected her daughters to continue the tradition of Armsman’s daughters marrying military men, and eventually, returning to the District to take up service in the Count’s own house. Years ago she remembered the Countess Vorkosigan smiling (encouragingly she had thought, though now – knowing the Countess better after many years of service to the family – she wondered) when she explained her hopes for her newborn daughters. And Tatiana _had_ married an officer (not Vor, but then that really would have been setting her sights too high – one of those ‘new men’ who joined the Imperial Forces after taking a degree in electronics). That she had met him while she was working as one of his lab technicians was something Helena chose to overlook. Her second girl, Olga, was now married to one of Count Vorrutyer’s Armsmen – there wasn’t even the slightest whiff of any break from tradition _there._ (Helena chose not to dwell on the fact that even she found her middle daughter something of a prig and had heaved a sigh of relief when the Baba finally concluded the negotiations over the marriage contract, and Olga moved to stay with her soon-to-be in-laws to help with preparations for her wedding.) _Somehow_ , though, things had not quite worked according to plan with her youngest.  


Perhaps it was being on Sergyar that had made the difference, she thought. Everything was so new here, not least the recently established Imperial Academy. She had been pleased when Johannes had come home to announce the Emperor had decided to establish an Academy here. She had not been looking forward to the day when young Dimitri had to return to Barrayar to take his entrance exam. Never had she expected it to be her daughter taking the exam. That was what came of taking all those calisthenics classes the Countess has instituted years ago.  


“For balance,” the Countess had said. “Nothing beats a little exercise for teaching grace and poise.”  


Countess Vorkosigan had insisted on the most immodest garments for practice; the Armsmen’s wives had insisted, in turn, on absolute privacy for the classes. The Countess had not insisted on weapons practice, merely left history books lying round featuring stories about famous women who had used their Vorfemme knives with distinction, and let the wives’ pride in tradition push them into approving self-defence workshops. It had been the _instructors_ who had insisted on modern weapons. The loss to the Count’s personal honour if their students were unable to protect themselves had been the argument that told with the Armsmen, no matter their wives’ doubts.  


And so now, years later, Helena stood tall beside her husband as her daughter swore her oath in the formal ceremony before the Viceroy (in Emperor Gregor’s name). She was to serve as a communications technician on the _Princess Kareen_ , one of a new class of space vessels dedicated to diplomatic missions; her first commission would see her travel to Earth. Helena had assiduously avoided hearing the tasteless jokes about ‘maiden voyages’ making the rounds in town these days. She took some comfort that at least young Cordelia was less likely to see armed conflict in that quadrant of the galaxy; and she would meet any number of officers both on board ship, and potentially, at the embassies the ship would be travelling to. Perhaps making a decent marriage was not beyond all possibility even now.  


The post-ceremonial garden party was all it should be, even if it was for female graduates; but then it could not have been otherwise as it had been organised by the Armsmen’s wives. The gardens of the Viceroy’s official residence had been bedecked with traditional red, white and blue bunting for the occasion. The majority of proud parents were townsfolk; this was probably the first time many had entered the grounds and they gawked at the formal flowerbeds and central fountain, before making their way to the tables heavily laden with food. The men tended to cluster off to the lefthand side, close by the hog roast, where they exchanged stories from their long past days of service, no doubt too crude for women-folks’ delicate ears. Their wives and daughters marvelled at the elaborate tiered cake-plate with its military themed petit-fours. In days of yore, undoubtedly the centrepiece would have featured a rearing horse. Modern technology had made its impact, however, and maple mead ice cream had been moulded in the shape of a space ship for this reception. It was not the only change brought by galactic influence. A discrete card propped against fine china tray that supported the iced confection embossed with the words ‘Armswomen Enterprises Ltd’ provided mute testimony to new ideas. No longer did the wives of Armsmen simply give service to their lord; they bid for contracts and were paid _the going rate_. 

The youngsters, clad in formal red and blues (with pink collar tabs designating them all ensigns) notwithstanding their pride in being newly commissioned, appeared somewhat overwhelmed by the formality of the occasion. They had taken shelter from the heat of the afternoon under some evergreens at the far edge of the garden, joined, in some cases, by brothers already in uniform who had come to offer their congratulations. Occasional shouts of youthful laughter punctuated the quiet hum of conversation from the other guests. They had _graduated_ and even these impressive surroundings could not completely suppress their relief that the arduous training was _over_ and they had passed!  


Helena joined the little group of Armsmen’s wives under the canopy, presided over by Ma Oborskaia. She accepted kisses of congratulations from her closest friends Maria Yunter and Alexandra Lisle. Maria’s daughter had married one of the Armsmen assigned to Lord Mark, an alliance that had taken her even further from Barrayar than Sergyar. Maria might have two grandchildren, but she saw little of them (though she did receive regular reports about their progress through nursery). Alexandra had four sons and only one daughter, Galina, who shared a birthday with Cordelia, but was even wilder. The two girls had been inseparable until three years ago, when Cordelia had decided to enter the Academy. Having been delegated the task of distributing the programme to all the wives, Helena had been at the Lisle’s cottage yesterday evening when Galina had refused to attend this morning’s ceremony, spouting radical anti-imperial slogans and making a very rude gesture when her mother reminded her about the invitation. More rebellious than her former friend, Galina never missed an opportunity to rant against the ‘hidden tax’ (as she called it) levied against the poor of Vorkosigan’s District by way of imperial service. It was true the Dendarii Mountains provided proportionately more volunteers to the armed forces than any other district; but Galina seemed oblivious to the fact they were all volunteers, _honoured_ to serve the Emperor, proud to represent the district. Instead she volunteered at some unsavoury resettlement project in one of the older (and really quite disreputable) sections of Hassadar. She was, however, visiting family on holiday, hence the invitation to the graduation ceremony.  


A loud buzzing noise overhead rudely interrupted the joyous occasion. Helena looked up to see a bright vermillion lightflyer swooping in circles round the complex. From its tail streamed a long purple and white banner with those same slogans she had heard Galina declaim yesterday. As the flyer spiralled lower, loudspeakers, retrofitted to the nose, began blaring anti-imperial propaganda. The pilot had worn a mask so her face could not be seen; but Galina’s bright blonde hair stood out through the perspex of the cockpit. Besides, only an Armsman’s daughter would have the code that admitted her through the force screen that protected the complex. Helena gave Alexandra a sympathetic look, which the other returned with a sigh, before she turned to gaze across the lawn at her youngest. Perhaps Cordelia was not so radical after all....


End file.
